WeissKreuz Magic Words
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: Aya the subject of a prank? What would convince Yohji to give up what he considers pleasure and distraction? And what exactly does a role swap between Aya and Yohji entail?
1. Chapter 1 Prank

**Magic Words**

What would convince Yohji to give up what he considers pleasure and distraction?  
What happens when Aya takes ill to a prank?  
And what happens if he and Yohji try a role swap?

**Disclaimer:** This story is not for profit, all rights with their current owners.  
**Warnings:** Spoilers throughout. The boys are foulmouthed. The chibis are no cuties.  
**Rating:** M for male/male affection and references to sex. Don't look for graphic instructions though - you will be disappointed.  
**Pairs **Aya/Yohji, Omi/Ken (rather streetwise, so don't look for cutie chibis), Crawford/Schuldig.

**Disclaimer, warnings and rating valid for all chapters of this story.**

A fanboy's dreams... Let me know what you think, folks.  
Cheers.

LoveyouHateyou

**xxx**

**Prank**

The smell of freshly steamed rice lay heavily in the kitchen of the Koneko, mingling with the thick pong of exhaust fumes and smog of a winter morning in the city. It was cool and dank, and Omi wrapped his arms about himself as he shivered in his white vest and white-and-blue striped pyjama bottoms. He sat at the table, a cup of tea in front of him and a glossy teen magazine at which he peered intently.

Ken slouched comfortably by his side. He was tousled from sleep and snugly wrapped into a zipped blue workout jacket and pants, one tennis-socked foot scratching forlornly at the ankle of the other, sneaker-clad one. He sipped at his coffee and took bites from a chocolate filled breadroll as he craned his neck to see what Omi was reading. Now and then, he and Omi stuck their heads together, whispering and snickering, and Omi was aglow at least once at the things Ken blew into his reddening ear.

Yohji, in nothing but reading glasses and rather scant black underpants, had one leg tucked under his bottom as he leaned easily in his chair. Swathed in a blue cloud of cigarette smoke, he was lazily nursing a mug of coffee, wriggling his toes now and then. He had his 'morning fag', having so far racked up a count of three crunched-up cigarette butts, smoked down to the singed filter, with only one cancer stick remaining in the packet that lay before him on the scratchy table. Sunning himself in the swath of pale light that streamed through the grimy window, he was reading a morning broadsheet.

Omi stole more than one appraising, glittering glance at the blond – welltoned muscles, sleek limbs, fluid and forceful when in motion, but relaxed and rather... inviting now that Yohji was at ease, those long, murderous hands innocently playing with a lighter.

Ken watched Omi and scowled slightly, but a quick wink from Yohji from behind the paper reassured him that things were just fine. Yohji had no intention of bonking the chibi, as he had put it rather bluntly. Besides, he had his hands full with Aya, and things would get worse today; they all knew that for sure.

Aya did not take well to pranks.

And this time...

This time they had overdone it. Really. They still jumped when they heard the door to Aya's room slam, and then he was down the stairs in a rush and burst into the kitchen – the katana blank in his hands, murder in his eyes.

"Who did it?" he roared into the guilty silence.

They had expected a lot, but this... Ken blanched, Omi chewed his lip, a thoughtful expression on his young face, and Yohji just gaped, eyes wide, mouth slack. He looked baffled and did not even try to hide it

For Aya wore...

None of his usual attire. No frayed sneakers, or comfy jeans and baggy sweater. No yukata or fancy mission gear either.

Aya wore a pair of black leather pants that outlined him like a second skin. Even though they were a bit long and crinkled around his ankles and bare feet. His upper body was covered by nothing but a flimsy, translucent black vest that was too small because it belonged to Omi. He might as well have been naked, Yohji thought and licked away a small trail of drool that threatened to dribble from the corner of his mouth.

As no answer was forthcoming, Aya swung the katana and hacked a chip from the doorframe. "Who the fuck did this?" The light was slipping over the gleaming blade as Aya pointed it at Yohji with a flourish. "Where are my clothes?"

His face was flooded a shade of crimson to rival his unusually messy hair, and his eyes blazed the brightest purple Yohji had ever seen. Yohji dropped the lighter and lifted his hands, palms out. Cigarette wedged firmly between his lips, he tried a quick smile. "Hey, Ayan," he breathed around a mouthful of smoke, and wanted to slap himself because Aya exploded into motion at the hated nickname. Yohji had barely enough time to dive behind his chair before the sword came down on it with a sharp clang and cracking of wood as the backrest split in half.

Omi turned ashen. Ken opened his mouth; Omi swiftly closed it by slapping his thin hand across Ken's lips.

"Aya!" Yohji yelled. "You idiot! That was MY place!"

"And you stole MY clothes, asshole!" Aya shouted back at him, with another brutally precise swipe that this time punished Yohji's mug and the edge of the table, shards and splinters flying everywhere. Yohji dodged the blow and ducked, lifting one arm protectively, but Aya had him cornered in a flash, slamming the table forward, effectively trapping Yohji against the wall.

"Ouch!" The cigarette dropped as Yohji shook and doubled forward, hands snapping protectively over his groin as the edge of the table hit him just above his knees. He tried to push the table back; Aya held fast, the edge pressing against his thighs. Yohji shoved a bit more, to no avail. "You agreed to it," he breathlessly hurled at Aya, nailing him with a flickering glare that included the katana in Aya's fist.

"I WHAT? You must think I'm as daft as you look!"

"Perhaps not but you were pissed, love!" Even now, there was an unmistakeable edge of rebellious goading in Yohji's tone, and Ken shook his head while Omi still kept his hand over Ken's mouth.

"Shut – the – hell – UP!" Aya fumed. The sword described a shiny arch, Yohji squeezed his eyes shut and sucked his breath in for a split second as the steel whizzed past his fringe, stirring a few locks, and coldly touched his sternum.

"What, can't handle it?" he yapped defiantly. "You're a fucking lightweight, Fuji."

The sword whisked up to point straight at his throat. "A light..." Aya gasped, choking on his fury.

"...weight," Yohji finished through clenched jaws.

Ken groaned, and Omi pressed a bit harder and gave a small hiss. "Shut it!"

A long, tense pause, the sudden stillness in the room dotted by the dripping of the tap, and the ever-present hum of traffic outside on the street. The steel glinted faintly, light quivering from the hilt up to the tip that ever so slightly pressed a dimple into Yohji's skin without drawing as much as a droplet of blood.

And then something odd was happening: Aya froze, shuddered, then glared. He bit his lip. "How much?" he spat.

"You're a cheap drunk," Yohji said, rather unkind, with another rough shove against the table. His motion very much looked like something else – trying to hold his upper body steady, he thrust his hips forward, and this time, the table scraped back a little as Aya swayed the tiniest bit. "Half a bottle of good sake," Yohji pushed again, his eyes hard and narrow, "and you're a goner. And that's when you agreed."

Ken wanted to throw something at Yohji's blond head to shut him up; Omi clutched at Ken's wrist to stop him even as he nudged him towards the door.

On Aya's face, barely contained fury began to mingle with trepidation. "You held me to an agreement that I made when I was... I mean... not in possession of my faculties?"

"You mean, shitfaced?" Yohji gloated softly, a nasty little grin curling his lips.

Shove, scrape. Aya kicked the table leg, the table whacked back against Yohji's thighs; he gave a choked cry and winced, trying to keep still lest the blade should skewer his neck. Aya glared a bit more, the silence stony.

But they all knew it would not last. Aya was easy to throw, if one knew how. Telling him he had lost control did the trick nicely... he would either be anxious to know, or decide murder was the better option to clean up his act.

"Take that knife outta my face, and I'll consider telling you more," Yohji pressed his advantage, before Aya could contemplate the latter as the most viable.

Reluctantly, Aya lowered the katana until the tip touched the tiled floor. "Where are my clothes?" he asked, his tone still aloof.

So it would not be not murder this time. Aya was trying to assess the amount of damage to his reputation, and then work out how to cope with the embarassment of it all. Usually, Yohji would volunteer as his punchbag... Ken breathed out, and Omi carefully removed his hand from Ken's mouth, giving him a stern look. Ken nodded and brushed Omi's lips with his finger. Omi smiled and turned his attention back to watching the other two. Ken moulded against his back and looked over his shoulder.

"Well?" Impatience tainted Aya's voice as anger gave way to irritation.

"Ah, your rags." Yohji tried not to sigh his relief. "Be nice, and I might tell you that too," he said as smoothly as he could manage. He kept an eye on the blade even as he let this grin fade into a cautious smile. "You agreed to play Go," he said kindly, edging his way from behind the table to pick up his cigarettes from the floor where they had fallen.

Aya studied his backside with a disapproving scowl: those briefs were riding rather low. Yohji took his time, bending and straightening with the fluid langour of a cat, his amber body showing off a play of muscles Aya felt vaguely... no, wildly jealous of. Taut and powerful as a bowstring beneath all that silk and velvet, Aya could tell. Aya knew. Because Aya had felt it for himself.

"Go?" he asked hesitantly.

"Aa, Go," Yohji said, with a slightly calculating glance over the rim of his glasses.

Aya was good at Go.

Yohji played with the packet, then smoothed one hand up his side thoughtfully. Mesmerised, Aya watched this hand, those strong, nimble fingers sliding over tawny skin, brushing a caramel coloured nipple as Yohji slowly scratched at his chest.

"You played with me first," Yohji went on, deadpan.

Ah. Yohji always lost because he never went to the trouble to actually learn the game properly... And what did he mean by playing with him? Aya's gaze flickered, and he reddened more.

"Then with Ken."

Who had no patience for Go. A nervous smirk settled in the corners of Aya's mouth.

"Then with Schuldig."

Aya jolted. "What?"

Yohji, glad that he was no longer pinned beneath the blade, shook the almost empty packet. He eyed the last cigarette with an expression of disappointment, before gleaming at Aya from beneath shaggy blond bangs. "He called at the bar where you insisted on getting drunk while draping yourself over my shoulder and playing Go with us."

The colour began to drain from Aya's face. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and began to worry the soft flesh, his eyes darkly on Yohji. Who perched on the chipped edge of the table and shifted the packet and lighter from one hand to the other.

The kitchen door thudded shut discreetly. Omi and Ken would eavesdrop just outside, but Aya did not quite care right now. "He called..."

"Yes, Schuldig called, lost a round to you and got a bit spiteful."

Aya shuddered. "What does this mean?"

"He insisted that Crawford was better at Go than you. Omi told him that was no big deal 'cos Crawford is an Oracle, and anyway, you'd quite likely let him win out of politeness 'cos he's a foreigner and all. Schuldig called us rather rude names – you know how he is with insults, always over-the-top – so Omi said HE could beat you without needing foresight."

Aya hugged the sword to his chest. "And... then?"

Yohji's hands stilled, his gaze softened. "You were very drunk, Ayan."

A gush of red poured over Aya's cheeks, before he turned almost white again. "Yohji..."

"Fine, fine, just don't threaten me, right?" Yohji paused, smiling without malice. "You were dumb enough to fall for it."

Warily, Aya leaned against the wall for balance. "For what?" he murmured, looking as though he was expecting a death sentence.

Yohji lit his cigarette and wrapped himself into a breathful of smoke. "You just had to argue with Mastermind, didn't you? It smacked pretty much of some jealous lovers' spat, but of course I must be mistaken with that. After all, you're not one to argue over my much-used ass, now are you?"

"Yohji..." Aya sounded pained.

"Okay, okay, is alright, I'll tell you." Yohji began to roll and twist the packet into a rock-hard twirl of cardboard. "You said you'd beat anyone, anytime. So you accepted the bet he suggested: you lose, and all your clothes... now how should I put it... you then would have to wear for a day and a night what he picked."

"And you... I mean, you let him do this?" Aya whispered hoarsely, eyes wide and accusing.

Yohji shrugged. "You did it all by yourself, Ayan. I tried to talk you out of it, but no..." He paused. They both knew that Omi never, just NEVER, lost a game or a bet. The chibi was eerie like that, as if hardwired to his computers. And just like Yohji, he tended to smell a good opportunity. This had been a nice, sweetly underhanded way of picking a bone with Aya, and Omi had been true to himself. Yohji coughed discreetly and cleared his throat. "He... well, Schuldig wanted to see you in leather and sheers. So... I mean, that's the tamest we could come up with, even though I think he had something rather different in mind 'cos he was pissed off. The pants are mine, gone a bit small for me. And the top... Omi had a spare one. Ken went to fetch the stuff, and here you are."

Aya groaned softly, his eyes drifting shut in agony.

"Actually," Yohji added, watching him with a hint of compassion, "it was you who insisted on dragging this stuff over your butt. We would have sent Schuldig off well enough, but you were babbling about honour and shit and you'd have stripped naked there and then if we hadn't gotten you to wear... well, something. Hey, he even thought about clearing out your wardrobe for good, but then he said he'd not wear that sorta kinky stuff, ever, and went off in a huff. We'll need to watch out a bit more for a while."

Aya covered his face with one hand.

A long, thick silence spread between them.

Then Aya's voice, small and unhappy like that of a sad child, "I look like a whore."

Yohji, mindful of the blade, stepped close enough for his warmth to waft over Aya. "A whore?" He reached out to pull Aya's head close, brow to brow. "Man, Ayan, you really have no clue, do you?"

"About what, Yohji?" Aya replied, deflated.

"The way you DO look?"

Aya dropped his hand and shook his head. "Like... some oversexed boy toy?"

"Silly." Yohji slipped his free arm around Aya's waist and began to knead the muscles of his lower back.

"I feel naked."

Yes, Yohji thought Aya naked was a great idea. He bit his tongue before the words could slip. "You look beautiful," he muttered, pulling Aya a little closer, the blade still between them. "Stunning. You must know; you can't be this oblivious, can you? C'mon, Ayan..."

Aya said nothing.

"Ayan?" Yohji smoothed back some red bangs. Aya's glance was downcast, his face pale, cheeks red-flecked with shame. Yohji blew a mouthful of smoke into mussed crimson. "But the stuff you wear... the way you turn yourself out, just look at you in the mirror when you're in mission gear... you really don't know, do you?" Yohji drew an incredulous, shivering breath. "Man, Ayan... your coat, purple of all colours, and it's tailored onto your ass... your earring, your hair... even your name... and I HAVE seen you slicking on eyeliner."

"Only for missions," Aya mumbled lamely, "as a disguise."

"O yeah, baby, and I'm a virgin," Yohji said with an odd softness to his tone. "If you really think I'm buying this... you're one walking rainbow, your whole look screams fuck me or get done."

Aya tensed, Yohji held on – for dear life so that Aya was now unable to use the sword. "So what?" Yohji went on quietly. "It's no one's business what we do in our bedroom, now is it?"

The kitchendoor opened by a tiny crack. "Has he killed him yet?" Ken whispered anxiously behind Omi, who elbowed him back and shook his head. "Tellin' you they either kill each other or they'll end up fucking," Ken gasped.

"Shhhh," Omi hissed, and Ken buried his nose in Omi's back, his arms coming around the younger man's hips, hands clasping over Omi's groin. Omi smiled, settled his hand over Ken's, and watched.

"I can't..." Aya's voice trailed off.

Yohji kept rubbing soothing circles on his back. "Can't what, Ayan? Can't bear the thought you'd lose it? When you scream my name?"

Aya began to fidget as if a jolt of electricity had run through him head to toe.

"Or," Yohji breathed into his hair, using his height to its full advantage as he pressed down on the crown of Aya's head with his chin, "that you're under me when we do it, hm?" A small pause, Yohji's thigh nudging open Aya's knees, then, "Wanna top me?"

Aya stilled with a gasp.

Yohji whistled softly. "So that's it, huh?" Another of those small silences that always punctuated everything they did. Yohji's hands cupped Aya's temples, then wandered over his neck to his shoulders, smoothing out the pair of long crimson strands of hair. Yohji pressed his lips into Aya's mane, then he ducked his head so he could look straight into Aya's purple glare while his hand trailed back to Aya's cheek, down again over his shoulder and arm, touching the pulse at his wrist, and finally entwining long wire-scoured fingers with short sword-calloused ones. "You can have me, Ayan. Like you'd have a woman. I don't care who's on top, as long as it's good. If it makes you happy. I want you to be happy, is all. Get that? Just... just try not to hurt me. I'm not into pain for fun."

Aya stared and swallowed hard. "I... but I did hurt you..."**1**

A flash of something in green eyes, a bitter edge to a cool smile, before it all vanished, skilfully wiped off Yohji's sharp features. "Try again then."

Omi forced back a soft gasp, his eyes sliding half-shut as he sank back against Ken's broad body. Ken lightly bit his ear. "Bed?"

"Aa," Omi breathed.

If they went to Ken's room, and Yohji and Aya ended up in Aya's room, they stood a chance of hearing everything that was going on...

**xxx**

Next chapter: Say It

**Notes:  
1** See 'Winding Down – Trapped'


	2. Chapter 2 Say It

**Say It**

**xxx**

**Additional warning: boy in bed with boy. Slightly more detailed.**

**xxx**

Yohji was on his knees in front of Aya, in Aya's room. Yohji had cast aside his reading glasses that lay forgotten on his bookshelf, and was sliding his splayed hands up Aya's legs, his touch hot through the silky soft leather. Aya was looking down at the tousled blond head, a small smile on his lips.

Yohji gazed up at him, his expression rapt, smiling, his eyes warm. "Let me give you a massage."

Aya let Yohji roll the vest up and off him. "It was chafing," he said when Yohji kissed the reddish marks in his armpits.

Yohji laughed. "Chibi size. He's got some growing to do there."

"You could have picked one of yours."

Yohji kissed the tip of Aya's nose. "They were too... um, how should I put it..."

"Indecent." A scratchy, tight chuckle escaped Aya's throat: his version of a laugh. To think that Yohji had been considerate enough to pick something he thought less revealing than his collection of netting and cropped tops...

"Hm," Yohji grumbled, swiftly fumbling open the buttons of Aya's leather jeans. Aya's breath left him in one long hiss when Yohji's bottle-blond head pressed against him down there, Yohji's arms wrapping around his legs, his hands cupping the back of Aya's thighs, sliding to the back of his knees, and up again to begin kneading his backside.

Aya's head lolled forward, then he threw it back and squeezed his eyes shut in abandon. He had to clutch at fistfuls of bleached hair to stay on his feet. Yohji slithered up Aya's body, mapping every inch with his tongue and hands, fingers digging softly into firm flesh. Aya felt on fire and melting, and then he lost balance and orientation after all, only to find himself on his stomach, his nose pressing into his futon, the faint aroma of crisp white linen, sun and rain making him dizzy. The leathers were peeled off his legs and tugged free of his feet. He could hear the soft thud and flop as the garment was tossed against the door and fell to the tatami floor.

Yohji's hands, large, hard, warm. Smoothing oil all over Aya's white limbs until the younger man was moaning softly into his bedding. Yohji's lips whispering and kissing his hot, glistening skin. Yohji's knees between Aya's thighs, and Aya could feel...

He gasped, wanting to tense, to relax, he did not know which.

And then, Yohji's body grew heavy on his, chest to back, covering him, feet on feet, hands on hands, a shield of warmth against the cold world beyond.

Aya wanted to die like this.

Yohji nuzzled the back of Aya's neck, his jaw, the shell of his ear. A wet, gentle kiss, even though Yohji was breathing rather hard. He WAS hard, Aya could tell from what was pressing between his buttocks through the damp fabric of Yohji's briefs, from the tension that made Yohji's thighs shake with the effort to keep from thrusting, from the tiny grinding movements of his hips that he was unable to control. "Ayan," Yohji murmured, "would you... if you... if you like, you could have me now."

And Aya realised through the floaty fog in his mind that Yohji had sprawled out on top of him because Yohji had to hold on to something to stop himself from doing what he would do otherwise.

A searing flash of lust ripped through Aya. Tearing away the layers of languor Yohji's skilful fingers had massaged into his limbs. Setting ablaze the glow inside his belly, and pouring it white-hot into his groin. With a deep gasp, he clawed into the futon and bit into the pillow.

A shiver ran through Yohji – they had played rough before, and even though Yohji had yielded, he had been oddly still afterwards, tending to scratches and teethmarks on his smooth hide, assessing the damage to other parts of his body... no, Yohji did not like this. To him, sex and power games did not belong together.

Alright, where did that leave them now... Aya forced himself to let go of mattress and pillow and sucked in a slow, deep breath before turning onto his side from beneath Yohji. Who rolled over onto his back, one thigh trapped beneath Aya's hip. Wordlessly, Yohji drew up the other leg, slipped it free of the briefs, and let himself fall wide open.

Aya gave him a hungry all-over, breathless with what he saw. Yohji, perfect, thoroughly aroused, beautiful. An invitation to SIN. His to take, his to keep? Aya dove in to kiss him. "Yoh... Yohji..." he murmured, sliding his hand through golden-brown locks.

Green eyes meeting purple contacts. "Aya." Firm, calm. Yohji's to give, and take away at will...

Aya dipped his finger into the massage oil in a shallow bowl on his nightstand, and began to draw gleaming patterns on Yohji's skin. Circling his nipples that looked like small knobs of dark toffee, painting around his navel, and along the faint dusting of dark-blond hair that ran down to his crotch. Dipped, traced anew – from the hollow beneath Yohji's throat, a slow, broad line down his middle, into his navel, lingering along the dark line, and further down.

Yohji's eyes rolled up and he shuddered, a moan floating from his parting lips. Aya could see the muscles of his backside flex and tense as his hips lifted slightly into Aya's touch.

When Aya bent to take one of those sweet-looking nipples between his lips, Yohji's head snapped to one side. His eyes squeezed shut, and his untrapped knee bent outwards a bit more, the muscles of his thigh and calf straining under smooth skin. Aya saw him reach up and claw into the edge of the futon, in a gesture that was as much begging as displaying. Mussed hair, flushed skin, a pink blush creeping from his cheeks down to his chest, tousled darkness in his armpits. Muscles tense, tiny tremors running the length of this body Aya had known and still wanted to explore anew every time...

Every time they were close. Every time they were apart. Always.

Yohji in this pose of deepest submission was doing things to Aya Yohji could not do when he was at his most skilful best. Having him like this, passive, utterly vulnerable, spread out beneath Aya's touch...

Aya growled quietly. To imagine him like that with someone else...

Yohji yelped at the sudden swipe of sharp nails down his soft abdomen.

And Aya saw the lustful tension melt from this honeyed body, like a wave washing ashore and sinking into the sand, leaving nothing but a fleeting shadow of itself. Yohji's hands loosened, he brought them down, one arm angling protectively over his belly, the other one settling tensely by his side. His chest was still heaving, but his leg straightened, his muscles hardened, his skin cooled.

He said nothing and he did not open his eyes. The expression of bliss that a heartbeat ago had been glowing on his face gave way to careful blandness.

"Yohji." Aya rubbed soothingly over the reddening trail his nails had scoured onto Yohji's skin. "I am sorry."

Silence. Aya heard the pounding of his own blood in his temples, Yohji breathing; he could see the skipping of his pulse in the blueish vein at his neck. Fast and jumpy.

Then, very quietly, "Is alright, Ayan. I can take it."

Still breathing in small puffs, Aya sat up and leaned back against the wall at the head end of his futon, his hands folded over his groin. "How can I... why do you have to out and fuck anyone who wants you?"

"I am no one's property." Yohji's tone was cool, measured, as though he had not just tumbled down from a soaring height.

"And I'm no pansy!"

More silence.

"Yohji, I..."

Yohji lay still, as if sleeping. Aya leaned over and smoothed a few blond bangs from his cheek. Yohji was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Yohji?" Aya kissed his temple. "Yohji, what if... look, at least let Ken cover my back on those damn missions. Stay backstage with Omi. Ken will do fine."

Swollen lips snapping free of sharp teeth. "Who better than me to keep your ass covered?" In every sense. "We knew what the job entails. Accidents do happen. We just have to live while we can."

"And not think about tomorrow?" Aya muttered, his voice rough.

"It's not just the dark beasts that we deny their tomorrow. Better not to think about it."

Aya pulled a sheet up to cover Yohji and tucked it in by his shoulders. "I cannot do this. It's roiling around my guts all the time."

"Rubbish," Yohji snarled into the pillow. "When I die, I want you to dance on my grave. I want you to go out and find someone else, someone better. A nice girl, with money. Someone that suits you. Until then, you can fuck me, but don't expect exclusive rights."

Aya lay down by Yohji's side, barely touching, but not able to stay away completely. "You tell Schuldig the same?"

A soft snort. "He and I... we talk."

"I saw that."**1**

"Well, that was a one off. He was all over me, what could I do? He's an idiot."

"You could have said no. You like him. I'm not stupid, I can see you do."

"He's easy. I don't need to think when he's babbling away."

Aya fell silent, thinking, listening to Yohji's breathing evening out. "I can't share," he said into the stillness of the room.

Yohji made a muffled sound into the blanket. Aya writhed closer and moulded against his back. "Yohji, you mustn't... you... let me take care of you."

"...myself," came the muted reply.

"No, you can't. You do all these things..." Aya's hand, softened by the oil, trailing down Yohji's back, to his most intimate place. Warm fingers caressing, begging for entrance. Wordlessly, Yohji raised one thigh towards his chest and hooked his arm under his knee. Aya slid into him without resistance, welcomed, swallowed by the heat inside this warm, hard body.

Slow, hot, thorough. Aya was making love, for once not having a quick screw. The guilt that was burning him up had receded, displaced by another, more urgent feeling of need. "Who... who dressed me?" he yapped softly, smoothing back a few sweaty blond bangs from Yohji's temple.

"I... ah... I did."

"Keep... keeping my ass co... oh, gods... Yohji..."

**xxx**

"I win," Ken whispered hotly into Omi's ear that was not pressed against the wall. Omi let himself be drawn back onto Ken's bed. He gave Ken a shimmering blue gaze, all innocence and smiles.

"Aa, you top this time," he said softly, rolling over and drawing Ken with him. It did not matter that they both had known... well, perhaps not. Perhaps, if Omi had not insisted on taking what was clearly the losing end of the bet...

And yet... "How did you know they'd not murder one another?" Ken mumbled between hot kisses.

"Didn't," Omi breathed. "But we were around to keep an eye, weren't we?"

"You lost a bet... you let me win, didn't you?"

"Just you," Omi laughed softly.

"No blondies?"

"Iie."

"Then let me give you one big thank you..."

**xxx**

Outside, a car with darkened windows pulled up by the kerb opposite the Koneko. The passenger door flew open, and a shadow emerged from the darkness brooding beyond the reach of the streetlamp. A flash of bright copper as the lanky form brushed the circle of orange light.

"I want you to get in," a clear, cool voice commanded from inside the car.

"I'm fine here, thank you very much," came the sulky, sibilant retort. A lighter snapped, briefly casting a yellow light across Schuldig's sharp, young features and pale eyes.

"No, you are not."

"Man, Brad, you're not my mother, so quit messing me about."

"Wrong again. I am your mother and father, your team leader and everything you have on this shitty world. Now, will you be good? Or are you disobeying a direct order?"

"Everything?" Schuldig stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Including your bedwarmer. Move already, let's get back before Mr Takatori shits his pants. I need an eyeful of sleep, and I want you to sleep with me. Get in."

And Schuldig obeyed, without another word.

**xxx**

Aya had seen the glance the redhead cast up at the window where he was looking into the dark street from behind the flimsy bamboo blind. Yohji was asleep on his futon, tanned limbs sprawled out on the perfect white of Aya's bedlinen. The room smelled of sex and sweat, a little of Aya's soap and Yohji's shampoo, and of the grassy aroma of the tatami mats.

When Yohji was asleep in this room, the room became Aya's home. He was at peace for a merciful while, and the look Schuldig shot him did not disturb him too much.

Yohji stirred a little. Aya went back to settle by his side, tracing the warm, firm body with his fingers. Learning him by heart, yet again, for Aya's hunger for this golden warmth was never sated...

Yohji had not been afraid of giving himself. Aya did not understand. Being inside this body, having him writhe and push against Aya's hard limbs, holding him while he threw his head back against Aya's shoulder and shuddered and keened as release crashed through him... Aya trembled and groaned as he felt his body respond. He had been allowed to fill, to possess, to own... only to lose yet again, for Yohji had not given everything.

"Yohji?" Aya's hand settled heavily on Yohji's thigh.

"Hmmm..."

"Why won't you stop?"

Whoring around. Getting high. Sinking low. Slurping from the gutters until it made him sick and dirty...

"Told you, I'm on my own."

"But..."

Yohji turned, green eyes narrow, heavy with sleep. "I'm clobbered. Can't you go practice, or something?"

"This is my room."

"Want me to go over to my den?"

"No. I want you to listen to me."

"Oh, shit, Ayan, I don't need a chewing out now. Look, I'm sorry, right? Now can I go back to sleep?"

"Why was Schuldig there, at that bar?"

Yohji closed his eyes and turned away, burying his nose in the blanket. "Dunno."

"He was after you, wasn't he?"

Yohji's shoulders heaved in a sigh. "So what? Is not my fault he's stalking me."

Aya withdrew his hand and shifted so that he did not touch Yohji anymore. He tugged at the blanket and clutched it to his chest. "Why can you understand him but not me?"

Yohji turned onto his back with a grunt and pressed his splayed hand over his eyes. "I understand you alright, Ayan. And I'm tellin' you, I'm my own man."

"So you lied to me?"

The silence tasted bitter. Yohji sat up and ruffled both hands through his hair. "I need a smoke."

"In the nightstand. Your brand."

Yohji scrambled to a crouch, retrieved a brand new packet of cigarettes, but did not open it. He kept turning it in his fingers, watching the light that trickled between the bamboo slats of the blinds, reflecting from the cellophane wrapper that sealed the packet.

"Maybe we were both just chasing an illusion," he said quietly. "I am not cross with you. It's my fault."

"Just stop slutting around," Aya burst out, bunching the blanket over his stomach.

"I will do as I like."

"Yohji..."

"Until you have the guts to say it. Then I'll stop. You tell me what you want of me. Tell me what you FEEL, here," he half turned and placed his hand over Aya's heart. A green gaze, questioning, hopeful, then resigned even as a vague smile curved Yohji's lips. "If you feel anything for me, that is. Otherwise, I'm okay being your friendly fuck now and then."

He was not okay, Aya knew. Yohji talked in his sleep, sometimes. And yet... "I... I am not sure. Perhaps if you'd stop, it would be easier."

Yohji turned away and ripped open the packet. Where his hand had lain over Aya's heart, the warmth that had soaked through the blanket faded away, leaving Aya distinctly chill.

"How can I trust you if you go out with... with anybody who asks? With HIM?"

"Then don't. It doesn't matter, is nothing to it, is there?"

Aya made no reply. Yohji looked over his shoulder, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He took it out again. "You... when you're drunk, Ayan..."

Aya shifted uncomfortably, but held Yohji's glance. "Yes?"

"You're refusing to tell me now... but when you're pissed as hell, you'll say it. To a room full of people, you will say it. You need to be shitfaced to face up to it, but then you'll even tell Schuldig."

Aya's eyes went round. "Is that why..."

"Yeah. And he knows I will be yours the day you pluck the courage to tell me when you're sober. It doesn't have to be with anybody around. Just you and me, alone. You say the word, and Kudoh the Flirt will be done flirting and do whatever you say." Yohji paused, clicked the lighter, watched the flame that danced in the depths of his eyes. "Until such time, nothing will change. I'll cover you on missions. I'll let you screw me. And I'll keep going out." He looked at Aya again, as if waiting...

Then he lit the cigarette, got up and nodded. "Thanks for the fags."

"Where... where are you going?"

"Want me to stay?"

Another tense silence, before Yohji blew a stream of smoke through his nose and walked towards the door. "Sleep well."

Aya gathered the blanket close. He could smell the aroma of Yohji's skin, and when he closed his eyes and listened long enough, he could hear his steps that were fading on the corridor... come closer again, walk through his door, laughing softly, just joking, kiss me, let's sleep now...

And Aya let images of his dreams soak into his mind even as he was drifting to sleep. Greeting him like an old acquaintance; always the same dream...

**xxx**

Aya dreamed of golden heat.  
Aya dreamed he was sinking.  
In his dream, he said the words Yohji needed to hear.

And then there was but silence.  
And the beat of two hearts.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

**xxx**

The End

**Notes:  
1** See 'Seasons Of Love'


End file.
